


amorphous

by SkylandMountain1013



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylandMountain1013/pseuds/SkylandMountain1013
Summary: It is old and familiar and somehow also tentative and new. It fits with everything else he’s discovered in the past few years.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 25
Kudos: 91





	amorphous

**Author's Note:**

> a·mor·phous  
> /əˈmôrfəs/
> 
> adjective  
> without a clearly defined shape or form.

He finally takes her up on her suggestion.

He finds himself in front of a room of fresh-faced recruits, and while there’s been no hiding of who- or what- he is, he’s not in the textbooks (yet) and so the overwhelming response from the students is vague interest. He sees a few glimmers of recognition, but to most he’s just another agent.

But he spends time with them and thinks he does a good job, and Flint gives him a clap on the back and a wink on his way out.

Melinda convinces him to have lunch before her office hours start, and they find a shaded bench in the courtyard.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you were great at that,” she says between bites of salad.

Phil shrugs. “It was fine. The techies kept staring at me like they wanted to devour me-”

“The Science and Technology Department has actual Chronicoms on faculty— so I think you’re fine.”

“- like a piece of binary steak,” he finishes.

Melinda rolls her eyes, but then her voice softens. “You been doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I am.” And it’s not a lie. He’s settling into whatever this is— a life but not really, edges blurred between what he knows he’s been programmed to be and what he thinks he might be becoming. Enoch clearly evolved and felt and _lived_ , so maybe he’s figuring out the same.

“Good.”

They sit in content silence until her phone buzzes, and she sighs. “The future of the world waits for no one. Thanks for doing this, Phil.”

He nods and waves and turns to head back to Lola.

————-

They agree to meet monthly. Sometimes on campus for a quick bite between classes, sometimes for coffee early on a Sunday morning, and sometimes just to stroll around town when the weather allows.

It’s usually shop talk— banter of tales from the Academy, what they’ve heard from scattered emails from the rest of the team— but it’s comfortable and easy and he finds he likes the routine.

“I understand it’s standard curriculum now, but having to lecture on time travel and the multiverse is not something I ever wanted to be doing.”

He takes a drink (he’s mostly stopped thinking about how his body doesn’t actually need nutrients) and gives her a wry grin. “But don’t you think you’re the perfect person to be doing that?”

“I lived it. More than once. Don’t need to be actively probing those memories.”

“Riddle me this, Professor. The multiverse theory states that in most instances each timeline has the same set of people in it.”

“I’m not teaching the science side of this, and you know that,” Melinda interjects.

Phil waves his hands to cut her off. “Work with me here.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Yes. Everything we know leads us to believe that the same DNA exists across timelines.”

He places a salt and pepper shaker in the middle of the table. “So, we can assume that somewhere in the timeline we left, you and I were there.”

“Sure.” He can tell she doesn’t know where this is going.

“And, because that timeline wasn’t exceptionally far off from our original timeline, we can also assume that more or less, our alternate selves would follow the same paths.”

Melinda drums her fingers on the table. “Point, Phil.”

He grins and leans across the table. “So, that means that more than likely, you and I were both recruited to SHIELD-“ he drops his voice a few octaves into a stage whisper. “- by _Director Deke Shaw.”_

Her eyes widen in horror. “Shit.”

Unrestrained laughter echoes through the cafe.

——

Routines continue and the weather turns and he stands on the stoop of her building, firing off a text: _have end of semester provisions. come downstairs._

She appears moments later, and he offers up a bottle of wine and a bag of Reeses Pieces.

“Please tell me you have something stronger.”

“No dice.”

She groans. “These kids get younger and needier each year. I’m asking for a new assignment.”

“I’ve heard you say that three times now, and it still hasn’t happened.”

Melinda leans up against the door and rips open the bag. “I’m sleeping for at least the next week.”

“I’m driving South for a bit. Rented a place on the water. If you want—you deserve a break.” She arches an eyebrow and he realizes what it sounds like. “Not like that. Multiple bedrooms. Besides, I technically don’t need to sleep— you can charge me in a closet or something-“

“Yeah-“ she cuts him off. “Sounds nice. Let me go pack a bag.”

He finds it odd that he got programmed to have butterflies.

Besides the scenery, nothing really changes. They talk, he reads (increased reading speed is a nice upgrade), she does Tai Chi in the early morning sun. They mostly stay in their own heads, and it’s okay. Familiar. He finds himself outside often in the evenings, watching the sky.

“Wishing to be a real boy there, Pinocchio?”

He glances over at her. “Nah. Tried that a few times. It never ends well.”

She takes a seat next to him and rests her knee against his. “I’m going to be older than you soon. Strange.”

“The ageless wonder, Melinda May? I find that hard to believe.”

“Easy for you to say.” She shifts and her back pops.

“There’s a downside to that, you know.” He thinks of the Time Loop, and Enoch’s realization of loneliness. He thinks of the deactivation button stashed in Lola’s glove compartment. He’ll figure it out when the time is right.

They both sit in silence.

She tells him of Tahiti that night, the good, the bad, the whole of it. It’s unsettling— learning about events that he himself experienced— but he’s glad it’s been filled in. When she’s done, he can only muster up a single thought.

“I’m sorry.”

Her answer is just as simple.

“I’m not.”

——

They consider it a turning point, of sorts.

She takes his hand while they walk the beach, he sits next to her as they watch movies on the couch. It is old and familiar and somehow also tentative and new. It fits with everything else he’s discovered in the past few years.

It’s late, and her head is heavy against his chest. His fingers dance through her hair. She makes a soft noise, not quite asleep, and he momentarily stops.

“Everything okay?”

“Phil Coulson always comes back,” she sighs. “and Melinda May always manages to fall for him.”

“Could be worse,” he replies.

“Could be worse.”

They know things can’t go back to how they were. Those versions of themselves no longer exist- for obvious reasons and ones they haven’t unearthed yet.

And maybe they’re too old for that now anyways- dark closets and urgency and unrelenting heat.

(Age is just a number has taken on a whole new meaning for him.)

But maybe they can settle into some sort of different.

He places the faintest of kisses onto her forehead and switches himself into sleep mode.

———

_“one universe has us right, of all the millions stacked on millions._

_so it’s not this one._

_i can live with that.”_

_\- Elisabeth Hewer_

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Sure didn't think I'd being doing this again! Thanks, AoS finale!
> 
> These two are still very much in love. Fight me.


End file.
